by Regina Scott
Chapter Twenty-One
She was nearly done. Beth drove the wagon up the hill to the Wyckoff residence and tied Lance and Percy before going to knock on the lacquered front door. Ursula seemed glad to see her, but when Beth broached the subject, the sheriff’s wife leaned away from her on the sofa.
“Deputy McCormick is a private man, firm in his convictions,” Beth told her. “Having worked with him these last few weeks, I think we do him a disservice by insisting that he wed.”
Mrs. Wyckoff arranged her dun-colored skirts. “A challenging case, to be sure. Perhaps a full member of our Literary Society will be up to the task.”
It seemed she wasn’t to be accepted after all. What was more important was doing right by Hart. Beth squared her shoulders. “I assure you they will not. Short of tricking him to the altar, which I’m certain you agree is a shabby practice unworthy of the Literary Society or any lady of character, Hart McCormick cannot be brought up to scratch against his will.”
Mrs. Wyckoff stilled, eyes narrowing. “But might he someday be willing?”
“I believe that to be the case,” Beth said, refusing to blush. “And I promise you will be among the first to hear of that happy event.”
Mrs. Wyckoff nodded. “Excellent. Perhaps you could give us an update at each meeting, among the other areas you’ll have to report on for the society, of course.”
Beth stared at her. “You’re inviting me to join?”
Mrs. Wyckoff touched her hand as if to reassure her. “My dear, anyone who can serve so ably cannot be denied.”
Beth had left smiling. She could hardly believe it—she was a member of the prestigious Literary Society. Pa and Ma would have been so proud. And that also meant the pressure was off, both her and Hart, at least for the moment. If he wanted to court, it was all up to him.
“And how is the good deputy today?” James greeted her when she met him in the Occidental dining room a short while later.
She allowed him to hold the chair for her while she sat. “Fine. Did you convince Mr. Black and Mr. Powell to let you carry their ready-mades at the store?”
James made a face as he sat. “Yes, and I cannot decide whether I’m pleased or disappointed. There’s something about a tailor-made coat.”
Her most flamboyant brother, in outlook and dress, James was forever offering Nora commissions for new outfits and coats. Even now, he was dressed in a spruce-colored frock coat and gold-shot waistcoat.
“Most of the men out our way will be happy for what they can get,” she told him. “And if they want something fancier, there’s always Nora.”
“Or this Mrs. Jamison I keep hearing about.”
Beth snapped the napkin open and draped it over her gown. “Inferior stuff, I assure you. What are you having for dinner?”
James was frowning toward the doorway of the establishment. “Now, what do you suppose brought Sheriff Wyckoff here tonight?”
She had an inkling. Beth grit her teeth. “Oh! I would not have expected Mrs. Wyckoff to exert her influence in this way, not after agreeing to my face. What, should I beg Drew to intercede for me when things don’t go as I want?”
James eyed her, but the sheriff came unerringly toward their table. A tall, powerfully built man with a long narrow face half covered by a thick brown beard, he always smelled of tobacco. Now he nodded to them both as he planted himself beside the cloth-draped table.
“I won’t do it,” she told him. “And nothing you say will change my mind.”
He took off his hat respectfully. “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. I was hoping you could tell me what’s become of my deputy.”
Beth reared back in her chair. “Your deputy? You mean Hart’s missing?”
“Perhaps the sheriff’s only misplaced him,” James offered. “Did you look behind the sofa?”
Beth paid him no mind. Neither did the sheriff. “So, you haven’t talked to McCormick recently?” he asked.
“This afternoon, around three, I suppose. Has no one seen him since?”
“No one I can find. He didn’t sign out in the office at the end of his shift. Billy Prentice found Arno tied on Commercial, with no sign of McCormick.”
Beth hopped to her feet, napkin sliding to the polished wood floor. “Something’s happened! Those villains he’s been chasing must have seized him to stop his interference.”
Several of the other diners glanced their way. One of the waiters hurried in their direction. Sheriff Wyckoff looked more closely at her. “Which villains do you mean?”
Beth waved a hand. “The gang that’s been robbing newcomers, the fellow who accosted me and very likely damaged our wagon. Deputy McCormick has been trying to bring them to justice.”
“And we’d all like to help him,” James put in with a firm tone she’d seldom heard him use.
Sheriff Wyckoff inclined his head. “I’m aware of the investigation, but I haven’t heard he was close to making an arrest. I’ll check further.” He stepped back from the table. “Thank you for your help, Miss Wallin, Mr. Wallin.” Turning, he started for the door.
James rose and eyed Beth. “He’ll find McCormick. The good deputy is likely patrolling farther out of the city today.”
“No,” Beth said, watching the sheriff out the door. “He’s always in town for the weekend. And he wouldn’t have left without telling someone. Something’s wrong.” She turned to James. “We have to help him.”
“Well, certainly,” James agreed. “What do you have in mind?”
In truth, it was hard to order her thoughts. All she knew was that Hart was in danger, and she couldn’t sit idly by waiting for word to come.
“What can I get you for dinner, folks?” the waiter asked, pad and pencil in hand.
“Not a thing,” James told him. “My sister has work to do, and I mean to help her do it.”
Beth shot him a grateful glance as they left the hotel. James strolled along beside her, as if nothing could be possibly wrong, yet she felt the tension in him. It nearly matched her own.
“When I talked with Hart this afternoon,” she told her brother, turning toward the harbor, “he was going to send a telegram. I suggest we start there. Failing that, we could canvas the merchants. Or we could talk to Billy Prentice. He may have more to tell us about the circumstances of finding Arno like that. Oh, and Allegra might have something to say.”
James quirked a brow. “You seem to have given this significant thought. Did you expect Deputy McCormick to disappear?”
“Certainly not!” Just the idea chilled her. “He can generally take care of himself.”
“Which is why you’ve been trying to find him a bride.”
Beth scowled at him as they turned onto Commercial. “I never told you that.”
“No,” he agreed, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. “But either he was courting you or you were matchmaking. There’s no other explanation for it.”
He was too clever by half. “That’s all over now. If Hart McCormick wants to go courting, he can do it himself. I just want to make sure he’s in a position to court.”
She kept that in mind as they headed for the telegraph office. He had to be fine. If nothing more happened between them, he would always be a friend. He tempered her mad starts, helped her think through options. She couldn’t lose him. Even the gang wouldn’t dare harm a lawman. Would they?
She gave the telegraph operator, Mr. Dixon, her best smile. “Did Deputy McCormick come by here this afternoon to send a telegram?”
Dixon shook his head where he sat dutifully behind his desk, his brass equipment in front of him. “Deputy McCormick hasn’t sent a telegraph for weeks.”
What? Beth sagged. “I was so sure he came this way.”
“Oh, he was here,” Dixon said with maddening calm. “But he picked up a telegram. He didn’t send one.”
It took every ounce of control to keep her voice pleasant. “Oh? What time was that?”
The operator scratched his temple, making his c
ap slip on his brown hair. “Sometime before five. That’s when I take my dinner break.”
“Did you see where he went?” Beth pressed.
He shook his head. “I don’t watch people. The line keeps me too busy.”
As if to prove it, the telegraph started clacking, and he bent to take the message.
James drew Beth back toward the door. “Not the most helpful of fellows.”
“Not at all.” Beth tapped her foot, waiting, until the telegraph operator had finished, signed off and checked the message before looking up again. But instead of addressing her, he glanced around her as if expecting to see someone else.
“That boy! Where has he gone to now? Doesn’t he know telegrams must be delivered?”
James stepped into his line of vision. “You were going to tell us about Deputy McCormick.”
“Deputy McCormick?” He frowned as he straightened. “I already told you. He picked up a telegram and left.”
“Who sent the telegram?” Beth asked. “What did it say?”
The operator drew himself up. “The telegraph office has a sacred duty. No one is to know the nature of the telegram except the one to whom it was sent.”
“And apparently the delivery boy,” James put in.
“No, sir,” Dixon insisted. “Deputy McCormick was adamant. I send someone to tell him when a telegram comes. He fetches it. No one reads it but him. And me, of course.”
Beth took a step forward, fists balling. “Deputy McCormick has disappeared, and it very likely has something to do with that telegram. You must tell me what it said. It could be important!”
Dixon took two fingers and pressed his lips together.
Oh! Beth squared her shoulders, but James stepped in front of her. “A shame about your delivery boy. Who was it?”
Dixon dropped his hand. “Bobby Donovan. Recently hired. And he won’t be employed here long if he doesn’t show up shortly.”
Beth blinked, shoulders coming down. “Bobby Donovan?”
The telegraph operator nodded. “Seemed a dependable type, and he sure wanted the job. I haven’t had any complaints until now. He assured me he’d found the deputy, but Mr. McCormick never came for the message. He seemed surprised to hear it had arrived. Apparently, the boy can’t even do that errand right.”
“I have a feeling he was doing exactly what he was told,” Beth said. “Thank you, Mr. Dixon. You’ve helped tremendously.”
He puffed out his chest. “All in a day’s work.” The telegraph began working again, and he hurried to take the message.
James followed Beth out the door. “I learned nothing useful from that, but it’s obvious you did.”
Beth nodded, setting off down the street. “I certainly did. I asked Hart to look into Mrs. Jamison, the seamstress Scout intends to marry.”
“Of what do you suspect her?” James asked, lengthening his stride to keep up. “Wearing a dress a year out of season?”
“Murdering three husbands for their money,” Beth replied.
James whistled. “Scout can certainly pick them.”
“Don’t blame Scout,” Beth scolded as they approached the lady’s shop. “She’s taken in the Denny ladies and most everyone in Seattle. Hart telegraphed the law in San Francisco, where she supposedly came from. I think that telegram told him something about Mrs. Jamison, he went to confront her and she captured him.”
“And you base all that on a confused conversation with a telegraph operator who wouldn’t even divulge the nature of the telegram?”
Beth paused to eye the shop door. “Yes. Besides, Bobby Donovan, the boy who forgot to tell Hart about the telegram and who can’t be found now, is Mrs. Jamison’s brother.”
James’s brows shot up. “Then let’s find Sheriff Wyckoff, tell him what we suspect.”
“No time,” Beth assured him. “Who knows what foul things she has planned for Hart?”
James caught her arm. For once, no humor twinkled in his dark blue eyes. “Beth, if the woman hasn’t scrupled to kill three husbands and kidnap a lawman, what makes you think she will listen to you?”
Beth pulled out of his grip. “Because I speak her language. Now, come on. We haven’t much time.”
* * *
Hart sat against the wall in the back of Evangeline Jamison’s shop. At least that’s where he thought he was. All he could see was a curtained doorway, some packing crates and a large trunk. He was a little concerned what might end up in the trunk.
His hands were tied behind his back with something that felt suspiciously like satin ribbon. His ankles were bound with yards of lace. If he was rescued in this state, he’d be laughed out of Seattle.
But he had to own that the ties were effective. Neither the lace nor the ribbon gave in the slightest no matter how he strained against them.
He’d been unconscious for a while, but near as he could figure it was after dinnertime. Would Wyckoff notice Hart hadn’t signed out? Would he come looking? Who was Hart kidding? No one would think to look for him at the back of a shop specializing in ladies’ clothing.
The curtain twitched, and Hart froze. But instead of Mrs. Jamison or his assailant, Bobby Donovan slipped into the room and came to crouch beside him. The boy’s face was haggard, his clothing damp with sweat. He almost looked as if he’d been the one tied up and left behind.
“I’m sorry, Deputy,” he whispered. “You’ve been nothing but a friend. I didn’t want it to come to this.”
So he knew at least some of what his sister was up to. Hart still wasn’t sure.
“Then help me,” Hart murmured back, wondering how many others waited on the other side of the curtain. “There has to be a pair of scissors in this place. Cut me loose.”
Bobby’s eyes dipped down at the corners. “I can’t. She’d skin me alive if the others didn’t beat me flat first.”
“How many are we talking about?” Hart asked, watching him.
“Two. Tough characters. They do what Evie tells them to do, most of the time. Everyone does what Evie tells them to do, or there’s trouble. Ask the men she’s married.”
He was beginning to see the picture. Two tough characters, Bobby had said. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Evangeline Jamison must be the leader of the gang who’d been preying on the newcomers, and Bobby, it seemed, was an unwilling accomplice.
“I can protect you,” Hart promised. “Just let me free.”
Bobby glanced back over his shoulder, then rose and went to one of the packing cases. Returning, he slipped a crowbar behind Hart, between his bonds. “I can’t, but maybe you can.” Straightening, he slipped out of the room.
It took several tries for Hart to position the bar just right, but then he had the satisfaction of hearing a ribbon snap. A bit more pressure, and the rest gave as well. Shaking off the ties, he brought his hands forward to work on his ankles.
Voices rose on the other side of the curtain, angry, demanding. Was Bobby even now paying for his kindness? Yanking on the lace, Hart freed his legs and stood, keeping the crowbar at the ready.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” That was the seamstress at her most haughty. “I think you better leave.”
She wasn’t speaking to one of her henchmen, then. He crept closer to the curtain, listening.
“I’m going nowhere until you tell me what happened to Deputy McCormick.”
The breath stopped in his lungs. Beth? No! He wanted to slam through the doorway, carry her to safety. But he couldn’t risk that Mrs. Jamison would reach her first.
“I have no interest in your deputy,” Mrs. Jamison informed her. “I’m to be married.”
“Not if I have anything to say about the matter. You murdered your husbands. I won’t see you do the same to Scout.”
“How dare you!”
Would she strike Beth? Kill her for knowing the truth? He couldn’t wait. He shoved through the curtain into the room, crowbar held high.
Mrs. Jamison was a few feet from Beth, the two women gl
aring at each other. The only other person in the room was James Wallin. He had his back to the door, as if to make sure no one got in or out. He sighted Hart first, and his eyes widened.
That was enough to tip off Mrs. Jamison. She leaped on Beth, pulled her close and turned with her as if to keep an eye on both Hart and James. A lethal-looking hatpin hovered near Beth’s neck.
“That’s far enough, Deputy,” Mrs. Jamison said. “Drop the bar.”
Pain shot through him, as if the pin had pricked every extremity. He bent and released the crowbar.
“Let her go,” he told the seamstress.
Mrs. Jamison tsked. “I think not. Dear Miss Wallin has interfered quite enough.” One hand on Beth’s shoulder, she gave her a shake. Beth grimaced.
“Now, back you go into the rear room, Deputy. Mr. Wallin is going to tie you up again. I’ll take Miss Wallin with me for safekeeping. Mr. Wallin will tell their family that you and their sister eloped.”
“And why would I do anything so foolish?” James demanded, moving away from the door. “Don’t answer that, Beth.”
Beth rolled her eyes.
“Because if you don’t,” Mrs. Jamison said, “I’ll use your sister as a pincushion.”
James pulled up short with a look to Hart.
“She’s right,” Beth said calmly. “A hatpin, used strategically, can be quite a weapon. I could easily bleed to death before you brought help.”
Hart felt sick.
“Clever girl,” Mrs. Jamison purred with a smile. “Now, back away, Deputy.”
He couldn’t make his feet move. His gaze met Beth’s.
“I won’t let this happen again. I can’t.”
“I wouldn’t ask it of you,” she said. “And I’m not nearly so noble as your Annabelle.”
Before he knew what she was about, she twirled to the left, taking herself down and under Mrs. Jamison’s arm, which she grasped and wrenched up behind the woman. The hatpin flashed as it tumbled to the floor.
“Levi always fell for that one,” Beth said with a shake of her head. “Deputy, I believe you have an arrest to make.”
Chapter Twenty-Two